Mosaics of Life: Leia Organa
by Virodeil
Summary: Glimpses in the life of Leia Organa, peeking into the various, varying experiences and impressions of a fiery young woman growing up amidst the high-and-mighty of the galaxy far, far away. Begins with her debut in the Senate.
1. Senatorial Days: First Month

Mosaics of Life: Leia Organa  
By Rey

**Glimpses in the life of Leia Organa, peeking into the various, varying experiences and impressions of a fiery young woman growing up amidst the high-and-mighty of the galaxy far, far away.**

Story notes:  
1. Beware of the asterisk(s) before the title of each piece, readers:  
* (one asterisk) means that the piece contains sensitive topics that might tweak at one's sensibilities,  
** (two asterisks) means the piece contains semi-graphic description of violence or other things that might bother someone, and  
*** (three asterisks) means the piece contains graphic description of violence or otherwise (see above).  
These pieces may be mentioned in later pieces in a much more tolerable way, so you mightn't miss much if you skipped those marked pieces.  
2. Each piece (each number) stands for each day in Leia's life.  
3. I don't know if the story will end up following canon or AU. But for the first few months (chapters), those that I have pre-written, it's definitely canon-compliant.

**Senatorial Days: First Month**

1\. Civil  
The Senator of Ryloth sneers lewdly. I grit my teeth, holding back thoughts, emotions, _anger_. No, I cannot chance an altercation. This measure _must_ pass, if only for a pale remembrance for a dead republic.

2\. Strange  
Darth Vader stands there in the shadows; unspeaking, unmoving, just yet another guard, yet another living fixture of the Senate building. Bored? Annoyed? Both? – But then, why doesn't he _act_ on it? Why does he stand docilely there, while his reputation says otherwise?

*3. Bleak  
Yet another motion for species equality within the Imperial military fails spectacularly. The motion to abolish any kind of slavery – the _one-hundred-and-fifty-ninth_ of it since the formation of the Empire – preceded it in last month's session. And _worse_, to date, nobody is willing to stick out their neck to support the proposal to stop the euthanasia of Force-sensitive babies.

4\. Teal  
"You look like Senator Amidala, this way, Leia," Winter says. And deep in my heart, an unexplain patch of longing reopens: a raw, jagged, half-healed wound. I pirouette in front of the full-length mirror for her ease of mind, garbed in the only coloured senatorial dress I own. But my eyes never glance at it – at my reflection – myself. I do not need to.

5\. Yonder  
Seen from the surface, Coruscant seems to swallow the galaxy whole. Even the nearest stars look dim and listless, as if their strength and light had been sapped by this greedy planet. I, human though I am, feel likewise. Cocooned by all these harsh, intruding lights, I long for darkness.

6\. Guise  
A new Senate committee, to oversee the funds and measures taken by the military: just something to appease the public, to soften the roughest edges in this galactical dictatorship. There are _lots_ of things the committee won't be allowed to get even a hint of in this lairful of traps, I bet.

7\. Quilt  
Empire's Day: Everyone is supposed to celebrate it, extravagantly if possible – if they want _not_ to be suspected for rebellious tendencies, punishable by anything from some fine to summary execution. For this day, it's also the custom for senators to give the topmost leaders of the 'beloved' empire great gifts, to express their gratitude and appreciation for the latters' 'leadership' skills and 'care' for the galaxy. Well, I've got the _best_ gifts for them, identical to a stitch; those _suffocators_, they deserve these humble little things.

8\. Scale  
"How much do you miss your homeworld, Princess?" Always, always the same question, the same remark, varying just in the manner of deliverance, diction and degree of interest; from the lewdest and greediest of senators, to the most caring of them, to one curious, intrepid supervisor of janitor droids. But _why_? I look young, I _am_ young, I'm painfully aware of that; but… but…

9\. Clutter  
"It's unbecoming of a princess, my lady." The guard is clearly flustered. I wave his well-meaning admonishment off with a smile and an absent twirl of a hydrospanner. After all, I have taken all discretion and precautions for this, and modifications in a speeder is allowed for a certain level anyway. Besides, I _need_ this reprieve: tinkering with a spare airspeeder belonging to the Alderaanian Senatorial Household. I just… _need_ it.

**10. Pump  
What makes a human _human_? I can't help wondering, even as my legs – _and something else_ – carry me ever faster; running, running, _running_, away from the loosed Rancor. Other people – visiting senators, ordinary civilians, storm troopers, zoo staff – are shrieking about sabotage, indirect assassination, extremist activity; but I don't, I won't, I _can't_. Blood and adrenaline urge me onwards, egg me on to my body's limit, and it's familiar; but _something else_ is roaring a river into my veins, giving me _more_ energy, _more_ awareness, _more_ acuity. Other people fall behind me – crash, shriek, _crack_ – but I _don't_. – Am I human?

11\. Nice  
"No need to be uppity with me, girl." The shopkeeper, warm and even chattery to other customers, glares and grumbles _at me_, as if insulted by my politeness. I glare back at him, irritated. Is this why the Household tries so much to forbid me from exploring the lower levels of Coruscant? But then, why is the shopkeeper _smiling approvingly_ at my offended look now?

*12. Cup  
Winter stares wide-eyed at me. My hand trembles. The roughly rounded shape grasped in it, cooly metal, shakes as well. The tainted caffe gleams innocently inside, reflecting the light from the dining-room's candelabra. The frantic shout of a guard is still resounding in the room, in my head, in my heart: "Don't drink the caffe, Princess! The poison passed through our scanners. – Captain Neven died!"

13\. Tired  
The same day, the same routine, the same harsh, false scenery, the same verbose verbal dances, the same arguments, the same people, the same attempts to escape my own mind, the same nightmares, the same inability to change _anything_. What use am I, being here?

14\. Wave  
Water is a luxury on Coruscant. Then again, what is _not_ a luxury here? Even _life_ is a luxury, to so many. – But the bath-tub is so large, and I am alone… I can't help it. I miss the seas and lakes on Alderaan _so much_. – Kriff, no, I miss _water_, lots of it, wherever it is.

15\. Prolific  
So many filled pods, so many eager gestures, so many intricate words… So many _lies_. What is the Senate going to do with such abundance? _Debate_, of course; endless debates with little to no result produced. But then, everything in the universe always has two sides, no? We, senators, aren't exempt from this basic rule. We're so much… and yet so little.

16\. Plate  
Leia…" Winter groans, but I don't pay her any heed. We're safe, secluded in the garden patio of my senatorial apartment, so I don't have to 'behave' this lunch. I'm _fed up_ of all the masks and protocols and _ugliness_ barely concealed behind all the beautiful looks and words, so I'll create a unique, unmasked beauty for myself now. The gleaming, delicate-looking Alderaani snowdrop pattern in front of me begs to be decorated by all the available foodstuff, anyway. It's big enough for my artistic endeavour, the familiar pattern soothes a little bit of my homesickness; and best of all, _ceramic can't talk or stare at you_.

***17. Burn  
The sirens are wailing, and so are a great many sentients. Crackling heat is everywhere – oppressing, inciting, _flaying_ – and the smell of burnt _flesh_ permeates above it. The lounge room _so close_ to the Alderaani area in the Senate building is now transformed into a riot of dancing yellow-orange-red, and someone's baby girl is hidden under my senatorial gown for a meager protection against smoke and fire. But, all this time, I can't help thinking: It's all so _familiar_, somehow.

18\. Tasteless  
I can _feel_ Winter's disapproving eyes on me, and also those of some high-profile strangers passing through the main doors into the Senate building. Kriff, I can practically feel _Papa's_ disappointed look aimed at me all the way from Alderaan, since he must know by now what I'm doing. But who cares? Most people disregard the guards, so they're made invisible; now, I'm made invisible too by default, since I'm half hidden behind their ranks. And ironically, I feel safe – no, _safer_.

19\. Kitchen  
Another poison in the Household's foodstuff; another assassination case piled up before the last one is resolved; another grey hair for Papa and Mama, and maybe the new captain of guards for the Household too. And in answer? I grit my teeth, leave a brief note for my brief mission, and drag Winter with me to sneak into the Senate guards' barracks. Everyone's my responsibility, everyone's hungry, and there's a good spot of meal to be had in my target destination. Captain Red of the semi-retired clone troopers is a nice man, after all. He let me hide for so long in his ranks last time, when he was on duty in the Senate building, at any rate. He might be willing to feed me now.

20\. Itch  
Darth Vader stalks past, cape billowing almost theatrically. I raise an eyebrow mentally to the view, struck by a sudden curiosity. Who is the person behind the mask? Why equip the armour with a cape? How can a military commander be reportedly successful in _each battle_ with that piece of garment always in the way? – And why's Winter looking at me with such dread in her widened eyes like that, by the by?

21\. Drink  
The content of the semi-clean glass is _lurid pink_, with _lurid orange_ bits floating in it like warped sparkly fish. It's poisonous to health, doubtlessly; but, at least, it's _known_, and I'm going to imbibe it semi willingly, in a dare with one of the off-duty clone troopers… who is also scowling at the same substance held in his own glass. Well, here's a toast to whoever's trying to poison me!

22\. Scoundral  
"Leia, you _can't_…" Papa looks the most flustered that I've ever seen in my whole life. I give him my calmest, most clueless look in return, though I don't think he buys it. He looks quite ready to come to Coruscant and bring me home by my ears. "Leia, they are… They are _storm troopers_!"

23\. Cap  
Senators Tahl'vehz and Vogge look _ridiculous_ in their semi-military getups. With their insipid looks and round bellies, they seem to insult the military academy we're visiting by wearing those, instead of respecting it and its members. I _don't_ like the military in general, but I don't think it deserves to be mocked so. – Well, it's a little bit of a turnaround, I admit, caused by the prize now folded and tucked into my senatorial gown, given by a particularly nice and gentlemanly cadet…

24\. Brindle  
Winter's look, directed square at me, seems to be caught between long-suffering and terrified. I flash her a beaming smile, but my attention is otherwise captured by the semi-wild Tooka purring at my feet, my acquaintance from the disastrous day in the zoo some time ago. She's dangerous, her coat's colouring isn't quite appealing for many, but she's _perfect_.

25\. Sublime  
The two little children are practically skin over bone, also dirty, smelly and unkempt. I don't know how they managed to infiltrate my Coruscant apartment's kitchen, especially given their state, or why they did so, but it seems to be a trivial concern right now. The tiny girl and boy, arm in arm, have matching eyes, matching ggrins, matching tousled hair, and I find myself grinning back at them. They're beautiful, together so; they're _perfectly beautiful_, and my heart _aches_ with inexplicable longing.

26\. Satire  
Papa's blue-tinged hologram face looks far from his usual composed dignity: sickly palid, with his _un_usually expressive eyes comically wide. Winter – that unrepentent traitor – must have informed him about my latest anonymous poem sent to and featured in the Galactic Gazette. Well, but he's the one to _always_ encourage me to stick to the truth and speak my mind, no? He also _disapproved_ of the enslavement of sentient beings, last we talked. So why the petrified look now?

27\. Stringent  
No going anywhere outside of the apartment before _and_ after the Senate sessions without "a good reason;" no elicit or semi-elicit transmission _anywhere_; no unapproved readings, especially those that might implicate me with any sort of crime if caught by the Empire; no greeting people warmly outside of the approved list of individuals, _too_. – I slump in my lounge-chair in the garden patio. A freaking-out Papa is _much worse_ than the Empire.

28\. Cupcake  
The best – _unpoisoned_ – ingredients, my best effort of following the recipe, concise and economical packaging whenever the Household _and_ Winter aren't looking, a deal with my two little thieving, infiltrating friends and my Tooka semi-pet, and here we are! A huge batch of treats for the clone-trooper barrack: a thank-you for a shared meal and camaraderie, an apology for my – _enforced_ – seeming aloofness, and a promise to break _all_ these ridiculous restrictions.

29\. Oyster  
"_This_ is _divine_," I can't help crowing, though in a low volume suitable to the refined establishment. Across the table, Senator Naberrie from Naboo laughs merrily, tinged with – in my opinion – fully justified satisfaction and pride. Nostalgic melancholy seems to shroud her, too, now, but for once I choose to be a little bit more selfish. The dish is from her native planet, costs a pretty sum of credits for its rarity and difficult preparation, but it tastes _perfect_.

30\. Climbing  
"Can't you choose a… _better_ way for your physical exercises, Leia? What brought you to suddenly choose _this_, anyway?" Aunty Deara looks flabbergasted, almost speechless. Still garbed in my gear, I grin at her holographic representation. She – and _everyone else_ – needn't know of my reasons. I'm practically in a house arrest these few days, but it doesn't mean I can't still associate with my new friends in _many_ ways.

31\. Crux  
"Leia… _Shooting_, now? And _fencing_, too?" Aunty Clora this time, just as I manage to hire a few more tutors, _more_ than my extended family members have gotten wind of. I wonder _when_ Papa and Mama will come in, and what they're going to say or do to me. – Climbing, shooting, fencing, swimming, gymnastics, animal care, open-kitchen training – a little bit much, combined with my Senate duties, but I don't mind. They're a bit much, yes, but this way I get to _always_ be outside the apartment. _Nobody takes my freedom away_.

32\. Doddering  
The Emperor is making his way up the podium for his annual address to the Senate, trailed from afar by Darth Vader. They look quite the contrast: an elderly statesman and a much younger military chief. But deep in my heart, _something_ whispers to me to be aware, to be _wary_. Emperor Palpatine is _much_ more dangerous than his right hand is, despite all news and visual evidence.

33\. Stair  
Hidden in between the leaves of a few rearranged bushy potted plants, for anonymity as well as safety, I'm rather comfortably seated on the floor of a balcony overlooking the public entrance of the Senate building. Far below, a steady stream of petitioners, reporters and many other people trickles up the long, arduous way towards the main gates, looking like a parade of ants. – So lofty, so hard to reach, more daunting and less beautiful than a tall mountain of rocks. – Senators are supposed to be _representatives of the people_, but here we are, putting a thousand stairs _right in front_, where it is supposed to be welcoming…

34\. Pub  
…No, it's _not_, or so the other senators claim. A much more refined establishment than a common cantina, they say, with much more respectable brews; two aspects that make _everything_ in here _ridiculously_ expensive. Eh, I would like to argue against it, _strongly_. I could find the same brews, with far more reasonable prices, in a much friendlier environment, _elsewhere_. I won't spend _the people's money_ just for _a drink_, that way. If only I could just _go_…

35\. Careworn  
I wouldn't believe it myself, before today, that a far overpriced drink – _of all things_ – would be the last hit that would knock the virtual wall of my obedience down. I'm supposed to attend the last session of the open-kitchen training today, an event that will be attended by _Papa __**and**__ Mama_, but I just… _can't_. Now I'm ensconced in a back-alley near the Senate guards' barracks with the pair of little scamps I've befriended days ago, and my life can't be happier. _Because_, on the sight of me, a radiant smile's burst on each of their dirty, haggard little faces. Simple, _genuine_, heartfelt.


	2. Senatorial Days: Second Month

Mosaics of Life, Leia Organa  
By Rey

**Senatorial Days: Second Month**

***36. Magical  
Gory warnings and descriptions were abundant in between the briefings for this relief mission, but nothing can ever prepare someone for the reality, now I realise. – The little boy, newly unearthed from the wreckage of his own home, thrashes his battered, bleeding body about and wails pitifully, breaking himself further. The medics are skeptical about his recovery, and I can't deny it, but _there must be something I can do_. – A shaky hand caresses the blood-coated temple, our eyes meet, and he goes limp in my arms with a wondering smile. "An angel," he whispers; and the smile turns permanent.

37\. Weather Forecast  
"A storm is coming." I don't know how I know, but _I do_, and this place is dangerous enough _without_ heavy rain being added. Condescending and disapproving looks follow me out of the only intact room of the late governer's building, but I don't mind them. The refugees, my people and I _won't_ be caught in the storm, and I _can_ help this one.

**38. Snack  
"Your favourite." Winter proffers the bag of chips at me, grinning hopefully, even as she crunches a few with relish. I wince, shake my head, turn away. – I _can't_. They sound too much like _bones_.

39\. Beach  
A different kind of land; a different kind of water; _home_, to boot. – I run towards the waves, and they run towards me. – _Home_; we welcome each other. _Safe_; I bury all cares in the roiling brine. _Peace_; out here, in the chaos that is familiar to my heart and mind.

40\. Kick  
I take up first-aid healing; I take up running; I take up self defence. – My family's gone more baffled and desperate, foiled in their attempts to distract me; but they _don't know_. Or maybe just _not yet_, because the rescue group that happened to be with me _that time_ got blabby mouths; one in particular: "An angel, he said. I agree, Princess. Stick your dainty shoes where you won't be hurt," he sneers. – And out sails one of the aforesaid "dainty shoes," to where it hurts the most, regardless of the fact that _Darth Vader_ is a witness to our little… incident.

41\. Tray  
Red bolts from an invisible attacker – or _several of them_ – streak into the side meeting hall, _just_ before the discussion about the latest _controversial_ bill commences. Screams ring out; bodies thud down; people flee; but Winter is _running inside_ instead: _unarmed_, towards me, _right into the fray_. And almost predictably, one lethal bolt zings _towards her_. – Datapads clatter onto the floor; the protocol droid bearing them squawks; but _I don't care_. The newly robbed durasteel tray arces high, _replacing Winter's head as the target_, and that's all that matters.

42\. Clatter  
I _don't_ like to be hounded, so… "I can ask for my street-urchin friends to help us track the snipers," I offer to a wide-eyed Winter, home on Alderaan and urging me to do likewise. "I got a blaster bolt with a datapad tray before it hit anything," I tell an overly fretful Mama; "I _need_ to learn advanced self defence _because_ of all these troubles," I demand to a protesting Papa on my latest decision. "I _love_ wild Tookas, Auntie," I chirp to Aunt Deara, with the said Tooka in my arms. "Poems are _definitely_ a princessly thing, Auntie, and it's a good outlet too," I preen before Aunt Clora's holographic self, as yet another satirical piece is posted on a galactic newspaper. And the best of all? Each of them is holding _something_ each time… and the item never fails to fall on the connection activation button for the holographic call, _turning it off_.

43\. Indignant  
"Calm down, Leia," Aunt Mon, _also_ the Senator of Chandrila, murmurs as her foot subtly taps mine. I give her a sidewise glare, while Governer Tarkin drones on and on on the podium in front. He's talking about the _subjugation_ of _yet another_ non-human-populated planet! How can _she_, as a senator _in defence_ of freedom _and_ democracy, condone _that_? Now I wonder, with her presence in my senatorial pod, if she didn't know of this _before_ the meeting, and came here simply to bother me about '_behaving_'…

44\. Kiss  
Mitwa, the sister, just as bruised and battered as the other half of my little twin friends, stares, as I give a gentle kiss on her brother's newly splinted shin. "It help?" she wonders aloud, and my chest pangs. _Nobody __**ever**__ kissed their hurts better_. But then, it's a fact that nobody ever takes care of them, gives them shelter, keeps them safe. – In this planet of glamour and prestige, the contrast _hurts_.

45\. Jam  
The gala dinner, commemorating the formation of the _Imperial_ military, is _boring_. Worse, I'm placed _too close_ to Vice Admiral Motti, who is prattling about _subduing planets_ with the might of _his_ star destroyers. And Lord Vader, seated to my left at the head of the main table, seems to focus on me and the admiral, _too_. The seating's _supposed_ to honour _me_, as a representative of the Military Oversight Committee, but it's a _torture_ for me. – Well, not so much a torture anymore, _if_ I could get to that handy pot of sticky pleasure near the admiral's elbow, _and_ tip the jam pot into his lap without anybody noticing… – `_Oh, thank you, Lord Vader!_`

46\. Colouring  
The elegant black speeder that I usually use to commute to the Senate is… _changed_, and I don't mean the crude approximation of the Empire's sigil on its left and right sides. It's now _bold yellow_, standing out from those owned by the other senators, and my shocked chauffeur capitalises on this point. Well, he goes further than that, demanding for reparations and recheck under the responsibility of the Senate staff and, meanwhile, another speeder to be sent to the Senate building for our use, but I refuse to agree with his demands. I rather like this new look, minus the Imperial symbol, I find; besides, I think I know _who_ did this, and the poor Senate staff aren't a match for _him_. – I'll just ask for a few bottles of bold-yellow paint to… smoothen things out, later. A _satisfying_ move against the Empire that won't get me into trouble, I believe. After all, it's all just _paint_.

47\. Hand  
_Pathetic_ – just a bump from the quarrelsome, equally young Senator of Neimoidia, and I'm sent sprawling on the floor, with datapads scattering everywhere, right in _Darth Vader's_ hasty path. _Humiliating_ – the black boots, framed by flowing black cape, halt in front of my eyes, and I can sense petty mirth barely held in from the opposite direction. But the poorly stifled snorts turn into a gasp, as what feel like a pair of clamps help me to my feet. And it's my turn to gasp, when I realise that _Darth Vader_ has helped me stand. – The hands round my upper arms, they feel too solid to be of the flesh.

48\. Soap  
A joking request got slipped in cleverly among the flimsiplasts containing petitions, invitations, advertisements, and the latest editions of the journals I'm following. It's got _all_ my formal, official address down, and plenty of formal-sounding, somewhat flowery words of salutations inside, which usually entails that the requester is the most desperate or the smuggest; and then, there's the 'request', in just a _single_ word among many, disconnected with its neighbours also by its _hand_-written message in blocky lettering: _soap_. – Now I've got a new category for this kind of letter, and its senders too: the most _exasperating_. Wait till I prank _those clones_ back…

49\. Witty  
The smell is _cloyingly_ flowery, the colour is _lurid pink_, the shape is _a smiley face_ – perfect specimens, made by my own hands, too: a huge box of neatly wrapped soap-bars, addressed formally to the Senate guards' barracks, with "my royal compliments and gratitude for our vigilent protectors, with hope that a lack of soap shall not deter them from their duties."

50\. Emotionless  
"You sent… _soap_, to my men." Darth Vader sounds indifferent, menacingly detached. But there is _something_ underneath his tone, and I fight _not_ to grin to that. – "They started it," I reply with all maturity and seriousness, mimicking his tone. I can do this, too!

51\. Crawl  
It's _demeaning_, to be punished like a little girl, by influence from outside home no less; a black-caped, black-armoured influence, to be exact. My parents are too terrified not to agree with the idea, Lord "smugly droll" Vader has _condescended_ to keep things hush-hush, and… well… I got to meet those cheeky clones again, since they got to accompany me in my fate; so, I guess it's not so _bad_. But to make crawling laps in the mud – _as many as the number of soap sent to the barracks_ – under sun and artificial rain, _while_ becoming targets of projectiled _sparkly pink_ confetti–!

**52. Nightmare  
_Heat_, all round me: burning, _flaying_, boiling. Hands reach out to me – helping? Begging? – but they're gone just as quickly, yanked away, _swallowed by the fire_. – Loss permeates me, more terrible than the hungry flame has ever been, and I let loose a scream, even as I jolt awake and find it's all a dream. – _they're __**gone**_.

53\. Wish  
A Zabrak is joking with a Wookiee, who is talking with a Twi'lek, who is playing cards with a Sullustan, who is teasing a Devaronian, who is pranking a Rodean, who is laughing with a Faleen, who is debating with a Toydarian, who is haggling with a human, who is handing a bouquet of flowers to a Pantoran… What an expressive picture. If only the galaxy is this peaceful, living life hand in hand… The creator of the exquisite holoimage is unknown, but maybe it's for the best. The Empire is _not_ this tolerant. It won't stop me downloading and framing this perfect work of art, though.

54\. Weedy  
The young man – maybe a new Senate staff member? – looks unassuming, even frail. He cringes away from physical contact, even the accidental type. Senators, aids and senate staff only throw him indifferent – sometimes even contemptuous – glances as he makes his slow way to our midst in this brief recess session, but I get as far away from him as possible instead. I feel _uneasy_. He may look weak, but his eyes, in the few times he fleetingly looks up from his shoes, are brimming with malicious intent.

55\. Talkative  
A rousing marathon tournament of board-games with Cousin Ray, who happens to also be the head of the Royal Guards, has won me See-Threepio, his protocol droid – who is as old as I am, or maybe even _older_. However, now I'm beginning to regret the win. The damn droid _never stops __**chattering**_!

56\. Clever  
The man is shrewd, tough and powerful – connection-wise, senator of a thriving Inner-Rim planet as he is. _If_ he weren't as corrupt as he is, I would consider him an ally. As it is, I _only_ have to be just as wily in order to _evade_ him. I needn't involve my parents in this – no, I _won't_.

57\. Tiered  
The young woman, with five children in tow, looks horribly exhausted and unkempt; poignantly relieved, too, as if she had just come out of a particularly vicious battle. "My husband has been taken… _somewhere_, Senator. I don't even know _where_! Please… I… They're peaceful protesters!" she stutters to a grieving stop, now seeming totally spent. – I feel like a rung on a stepladder. But I can't fault the poor woman. After all, the Empire is practically a giant, galactic-scaled stepladder, and it's set the senators as an unnecessarily high rung to step on, before cases are processed. And now I wonder: With how hard it is to just reach _the peoples' representatives_, can _we_ still claim we defend the populace?

58\. Laughing Stock  
"_You_? Just stay home and be pretty, girl. No need to bother your pretty head with arms and violence. – It's _why_ there's no place for women in the military." Blunt, challenging, vicious, _shallow_, _ignorant_… The moff _preens_ as he crows; more, as his cohorts let out braying laughs. – I do _not_ like the thoughts of solving anything with such violence as typified by the military; but that does _not_ mean women have no place in the defence of their homes, _and the __**galaxy**__ is their home, __**too**_. So I argue on the topic, regardless.

**59. Clump  
_How_ in the galaxy has the _peaceful_ protest against enslaving non-human races turned like _this_? – Hidden in my shrubbery-lined nook on the forward-facing balcony at the Senate building, my wide-eyed gaze is glued on the… _mounds_ of burnt _and smoking_ corpses that used to be _people_. Something – or _someone_ – happened, and the ranks of protesters turned anarchic, and then… and then…

60\. Trust  
Confronting Captain red of the Senate guards may have been a bad move on my part, now I realise, as my stomach churns wildly. – But no, I did _need_ to know. And he _answered_, blunt as a club to the head, for the sake of our growing friendship. The consideration is actually what _at last_ makes me slump into his arms with a head-to-toe shudder, in addition to the words he murmurs into my ears: "Trust _us_, Leia. We obey orders; we were _made_ to obey orders; but we do have our own minds, unlike droids. You saw everything; you noticed, then, didn't you, that we only defended ourselves? We would leave them alone, if they didn't attack us."

61\. Symbolism  
Padmé: the name of a common flower indigenous to Naboo: a wide-petaled, fragrant, soft beauty rising from a bed of stinking lake-side _mud_. Padmé: the name of a fourteen-year-old girl rising from the obscurity of a war-torn Mid-Rim world, _not_ in spite of it but _because_ of it: a beautiful woman tough because of her softness, fiery because of her kindness, and loving in spite of her situations. – Whoever named her at her birth, they chose well, or maybe they did hope she'd turn out like that. It makes me wonder, why would Papa and Mama name me "Warrior," if they'd rather I be a princessly figurehead?

62\. Falling  
There are whispers about taking up arms against the Empire. – Papa and Mama are cagy about it, but _I know_, and I feel uneasy about it. Won't we just create _yet another_ great war by doing this? And worse, it won't even be planet against planet, or sector against sector, but most possibly _family against family_, and _friend against friend_; a much more insidious war than the last one, all in all, a _galactic-scaled civil war_. Won't we just _destroy_ the peoples we seek to save by rebelling in this way?

63\. Bright Red  
Two pairs of young-but-old eyes look up at me solemnly. I give them my sincerest, most confident smile, as I kneel down and put a hand-knit pullover on each of the tiny, scrawny, identically built frames. "I'm sorry for the poor quality," I tell them; half joking, half serious. "I made them myself. I hope you like the colour. It's for courage… for warmth… Some say it's for anger too, but please don't think it that way, all right?" – But to that, they smile, and Methra – the brother, the quieter of the pair of my little twin friends – pipes up, "It's for _you_, Leia. I see the colour whenever I see you."

64\. Cliff  
I stand with as much poise I can muster on the small podium built into my senatorial pod, as the floor is ceded to me for the presentation of my proposal. The sharp eyes and attention of various beings that make up the Senate usually don't bother me; however, today, _this moment_, I'm _openly_ attempting to prevent Dravihrg – a small, _non-human-populated_ planet on the edge of the Mid-Rim – from being _subjugated_ by the Empire. "My fellow senators, representatives of the peoples in our beloved galaxy…" – My foot is inching closer and closer to the figurative open air, with unfathomable drop waiting to swallow me, but _I can't stop_. The _need_ of the Dravihrgi pushes me ever onward.

65\. Waterfall  
It's _very, very_ odd that the block of towers reserved for the military's use features a real-life _waterfall_ – not at all an animation, with how water sprays everywhere after hitting the ruggedly beautiful arrangement of mossy boulders. It's even odder that it's placed on the particular tower which is _personally_ used by _Darth Vader_ when he's 'dirtside'. But for now, I don't care much about such detail. The sight, sound, smell and _feel_ of the roughly tumbling and spraying water, sparkling with eternal rainbow on the top where sunlight hits it dead-on, stirs something bittersweet _deep_ in my psyche. – I feel whole, I feel empty; but it's better than feeling the sort of helplessness I've felt since the Senate Military Oversight Committee's meeting with ISB on a few regulations this morning.

66\. Brisk  
"Leia?" But Winter's eyes aren't on me. They're fixed – with the sort of horrified fascination reserved for watching a pair of crafts collide in air or deep space – on the supreme commander of the Imperial forces, who has been interrupted mid-meeting with us as the representatives of Alderaan by an urgent message. It seems so urgent to him that he appears to have forgotten us, barking orders and flitting here and there in his office in quick,economical jerks. – That white-haired best friend of mine then look at me… then back at him… then back at me… then back at him again… "Leia… it's so… _familiar_. You…"

67\. Trunk  
"Are you sure, Leia?" Senator Naberrie looks worried and concerned, and not because she's about to hand me copies of her best, most treasured, _private_ moments, encased in holopics and even several mementos. She looks happy to share, in fact, though… sad, somehow. But she seems to have expected my answer, since she hands the trunk of precious treasures wordlessly even before I open my mouth to confirm my determination. – Well, then again, I think,above anyone else in the galaxy, she _knows_ the _drive_ to know more _and more and more_ about the late Senator Amidala. People must have _expectations_ for her to be _just like_ the late Senator, being the woman's own niece, just like they do to me, looking – and _behaving_ – so alike the senator as I am. – Padmé Naberrie is an unattainable star for both of us. We love her, and we hate her. And in this not so large trunk, faded and a little bit battered as it is, the goal to knowing her more is both closer and farther than it ever is, _as it will __**ever**__ be_.

68\. Trickle  
Winter kriffing _snitched_. Now Papa _and_ Mama know of the additional classes I've been taking and _cut them off_. – We're going to _talk_ about this, _soon_, when I'm no longer feeling quite so murderous; but for now, I've got a good outlet for the feeling, one that'll also tell her loudly about my current opinion towards her. – The foul-looking, foul-smelling semi-solid concoction runs down thinly from the small nozzel I've installed on my hand-made, temporary little droid creeping on the ceiling, right on top of the white hair, pale cheeks, small nose… The rivulets branch off into tinier streams, and those tiny running lines go _everywhere_, including _into_ a half-ajar mouth and an unconsciously flaring nostril… – Winter jerks awake and throws herself out of bed with a shrill scream. I snigger. I'm feeling lighter already.

69\. Footwear  
Elite – sometimes obscure – brand names fly about the dainty, genteel lounge; delicate, subtle weapons for the socialite women gathered all round me, 'good' for each other: to stab underhandedly, to slice thin but deep, to pour acid into open wounds… Eh, but my shoes are reasonably sturdy and snug, they're beautiful enough for me, and they match _all of me_ well, so I can care less about those overpriced little leeches. I can always smuggle in new droid parts with the _huge_ difference in prices!

70\. Goblet  
Two months as senator, two months of hardwork, two months of suffering, and _nothing_ has shifted, let alone changed. – Everyone at home warned me about this, but I thought _I knew better_. Now the goblet for the toast is winking at me smugly under the candlelight, and my blood boils. – The sound of breaking crystal is, for once, _satisfying_. I'm usually in the opinion that destroying the drinking goblet after an 'important' toast is a nonsensical, wasteful gesture; but _right now_ it's not.


End file.
